Friday, September 08, 2006

Drooling and Drums

Football makes me drool. Not in an anticipatory Pavlov kind of way. More like a my-jaw-has-gone-slack-from-disinterest kind of way, and I have forgotten to swallow my spit. But this evening, I went to Small Town's football game against some other team from Ohio. All I know about the other team is that their colors are red and white. Our colors are red and white as well, so the whole field and the two marching bands tended to blend.

I did pay attention to the preliminaries, though, and discovered that our band does not form a giant D for the team to run through, as I previously thought. They form the giant D in order to play the almamater, which is sung like a hymn from the stands. Then, they form some kind of gauntlet that leads from the big inflatable smoke-blowing helmet to the 50-yard line--and that's what the team runs through. And I think the cheer leaders.


There is a woman with season-ticket seats near mine. I've held my season-ticket seats for about four years but rarely use them. I suspect this woman has held her season-ticket seats for 30 years and hasn't missed a game. Based on her constant yelling and barking at the coaches and players, I think she was a coach in another life. I think she was Bear Bryant minus the hounds tooth hat. Or was it tweed?

The reason I go to these games is for the half-time. My seat is on the 30-yard line, which is usually where #2 is positioned on the field with her trumpet. Unfortunately, tonight the new drill had her on the other side. I was eager to see this show because the drill and the drum feature were written by my friend JW. She writes great cadences and great drum features. I was not disappointed.

She put together a drum circle, and it seemed intimate to me. It seemed that this circle could have been performed for the sake of the performers, and the audience was just allowed to watch out of courtesy. I'm not sure if that was JW's intention, but it made for a great half time, and it gave me a chance to wipe my chin.

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